An Ode to Arrogance

A study in symbols, a quiet critique of status - ornate, deliberate, and laced with irony. Two doves intertwine mid-flight, their wings outstretched in a celestial ballet, somehow evoking whispers of faith, purity, and something holier than material ambition. Below, the sleek, metallic glint of a 2000s Motorola flip phone - a relic of cool, once snapped shut with effortless authority. Beneath it, a scratch-and-sniff sticker, the ultimate badge of schoolyard triumph. To receive one on your work was a thrill, an affirmation of your excellence, the object of every classmate’s envy. To the side, a sketched 1970s Range Rover - a machine of power and prestige, yet ultimately unnecessary, a rolling emblem of wealth for wealth’s sake - nonessential, yet coveted. Above, a mid-century armchair perches with an air of sophistication - iconic, revered, yet too uncomfortable to sit on. Together, these objects weave a painted satire of perceived success, of things acquired not for their true value, but for the illusion they project, a polished façade meant to communicate a position in the world, a whispered message that “I am better than you.”

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Coris Evans is a visual artist based on Bundjalung Country in Byron Bay, Australia. Her practice explores memory and longing, using familiar objects and symbols to trace how personal history lingers in everyday life.

After losing her mother to cancer as a teenager, memory became something to return to - a place where time slowed, where tenderness endured, and where her mother still lived. Evans’ paintings and sculptural works draw on ordinary objects as emotional anchors: a well-worn mug kept beyond its use, an old mobile phone once filled with teenage secrets, the lingering scent of a parent’s hair product. These details become quiet carriers of feeling, transforming intimate memory into shared experience.

Working primarily with sustainable and recycled materials, Evans views care for the environment as inseparable from care for memory itself. Her process is slow and deliberate, guided by responsibility - to material, to narrative, and to the world her work inhabits. Through her practice, Evans invites viewers to reflect on what we hold onto, what we lose, and the objects we return to when we want to remember who we were.